Addict
by Magali1
Summary: Lyla goes to help out Tim and figures out the irony of their situation. This is not a happy fic. Angst. One-shot.
1. Veni Vidi Vici

**A/N:**This fic is kind of sad and ironic, and it's supposed to be that way on purpose. I don't quite know where it came from, but I wanted to write it, so I did. We'll see if anyone "enjoys" it (kind of hard, because it's meant to be sad).

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_Veni Vidi Vici_

It's like a prison. That was her first thought. It smells like a hospital. That was her second thought. And it is one of the saddest places I've ever been, that was her third thought. Then she had no more thoughts. She set down the pen that the administrative assistant had passed her through the glass window and nudged her information card forward through the slot at the bottom of the window.

The assistant slipped a clip-on badge with a large red "V" on it through the same slot. She tapped it with a long red fingernail and looked up at her, meeting her gaze. "That's to remain on at all times. You're going to the step-down ward. Which means we'll have to ask you to leave your belongings, including coat, inside a locker. Here's your key. You can put that in your pocket or wrap it around your wrist if you don't have a pocket."

She nodded quickly, nibbling on her lower lip as she took the small orange key with a '33' on it. Ironic, she thought with a smirk. She turned around and approached a wall of lockers and shoved her designer tote bag into the cramped space, hoping it would shut. She hung her coat on a rack of other coats. It was her favorite, a Max Mara she'd found at a sample sale. She smoothed her fingers over the funnel collar and stepped away.

Now what, she wondered, crossing her arms over her chest. It was so cold in here. She wondered if they did keep the heat down like in hospitals to stop the spread of infection or something. A lock of hair fell into her eyes and she pushed it aside, looking at her class ring. Vanderbilt, she thought, twisting it around on her left ring finger. It was there in lieu of another, because her boyfriend hadn't quite figured out that she wanted to get married.

Although she'd lately been having doubts. She sat down on a hard plastic chair, nervously waiting for someone to come collect her. She stood up after barely sitting down, too anxious. "Excuse me," she said softly, leaning towards the window at the assistant again. She swallowed hard. "I brought some things…is it okay if I leave them with you or…or who should I give them…"

"They'll have to be screened. To make sure there's no contraband."

"Yes, of course." There wasn't anything like that. Just a few magazines. Some books she knew he wouldn't read. She even tossed in a couple pairs of pajama bottoms. I had to do something, she'd never shown up anywhere without a gift. She turned to the door beside the check-in desk, watching it open.

A small woman in scrubs came out, smiling at her warmly. "Lyla Garrity?"

"Yes."

"You can come on back now." The woman had a nametag on that cheerily proclaimed in stickers that her name was Anne. She offered her hand. "I'm Anne, I'm one of the nurses. Follow me please."

So she followed her, hugging her arms around her. They walked through a large corridor, people coming and going. She cleared her throat and leaned forward. "The assistant out there said that it's a step-down ward? I'm sorry, I'm…what is that?"

"It's the step down from the detox unit, once they're detox they're taken to the step-down. Privileges include visits from family and friends once a week for one hour at a time, some hours of television, and recreational time. None of the visitors can have bags or coats when they meet with the patient."

Patient. That's what this place was, she had to remind herself, as they walked by doors with locks on them and employees having to badge in. It was a hospital. A very serious hospital, but not a prison, she thought again, following Anne to a large door. Anne badged in and then led her into a comfortable looking room with a muted green and beige color scheme and large, cushy furniture.

She frowned lsightly at the empty space. "I thought…"

"He's outside." Anne smiled sadly, her voice quiet. "Whenever he can go outside, he's outside. He gets an hour of outside time a day, but we're giving him the one extra as visitor time." She pushed open a door into a pleasant looking courtyard with a large tree in the middle and big plants around the walls. There were small windows looking down at them.

She stepped outside, unsure what she'd see. When she saw…she wasn't prepared. Her father had told her…told her that she wouldn't be prepared, even if she thought. She covered her mouth with her hand, staring. Oh God, she thought, closing her eyes tight. Don't cry Lyla, just don't cry, it's not worth it.

When she opened her eyes again, Anne was halfway across the courtyard to him. He was sitting in an Adirondack chair, wearing a set of dark blue scrubs. A white long-sleeved shirt was beneath the scrubs, pushed up to his elbows. He had on a pair of slip-on shoes with no socks and his long hair was pulled back from his face.

He had his head in his hand, staring at nothing in the grass. What startled her so much was how thin he was. His skin seemed pulled over his face and his eyes were sunken into his head. You get worse before you get better, Buddy had told her, as though trying to already make her feel better before she came. Why did I come, she wondered, slowly stepping towards him. I shouldn't be here. I'm not family. I'm certainly not a friend.

I can't stay away, she thought. She'd been in town for Christmas. Buddy told her what had happened. Then she'd run into Jason at the grocery store…he'd broken down later that night, when they were catching up with drinks, and told her he didn't know what to do, but he couldn't do this alone. Couldn't be the only one who cared. Because it seemed like very little did. So I'm here for Jason, she thought. That's why I'm here.

"You have a visitor," Anne chirped, lightly touching his shoulder. He turned slightly, staring straight at her. Anne looked up at her, continuing to smile. "I'll be just inside the door if you need anything."

"Thank you," she said, quietly accepting the other woman's sad smile. She waited until the door to the hospital closed before she walked over towards him and took a seat on a bench across from his chair. His hazel eyes watched her like a hawk, never moving from her as she settled herself. "You look good," she lied.

"I look like shit." He sounded like it, his voice scratchy. From lack of use, she thought. That's what it seemed like. He lightly touched it, answering her silent question. "From the tube."

Tube. To pump his stomach. They'd found him on the floor. Unconscious. Drank himself into a coma. There were pills too, she thought, her lower lip quivering. "Good God," she whispered.

"Your god doesn't help me," he said.

"Tim."

He glared at her; how dare she say his name, she thought. That's what he seemed like. He stared at her again, his forehead smoothing out from his glare a moment before. "You look fancy."

I guess that's his way of saying I look nice. She slowly ran her hand over her angora sweater, resting it on the knee of her wool trousers. She shrugged and whispered. "Yeah, well…I've changed." Fancy clothes are part of the life. It was meetings and conferences and book pitches these days. She bit her lower lip again, frowning at him. "You look awful."

"Thanks."

What happened? She sighed hard, shaking her head. He sat silently; he'd sit silently, staring at her the entire time if she'd let him. She took a deep breath and spoke. Her voice was strong. To the point. "I'm not here for you, let's get that out in the open right now." He arched an eyebrow and she continued. "I'm here because Jason has been your best friend and…and he can't…he was so devastated and…and I couldn't stand to see him like that so I'm here because he can't be and…and somehow I walked through that door." She held her breath in her throat for a moment. Until she let it out in a sob, covering her forehead with her hand, shaking her head. "Oh my God! What happened to you!? You weren't like this!"

I am so angry, she thought, staring at him in horror. Disgusted horror. He just looked at her and she wanted to throw something at him. He finally spoke. "Jason couldn't come here himself? He sent you? That's nice. Nice of him." He paused for a moment, before speaking again, his voice very soft. "You know he's been doing his life for the last ten years…I'm not in it. Funny how he wants to be in mine…because I let him have his, you know?" He smirked. "He's my friend when he wants to be."

"Well you're not much of one to him."

"Because he has his family and I have this place." He smiled, but it wasn't happy or genuine. It was angry; twisted. "Nice of you to come too Garrity."

She stared at him for a second, before she laughed. "Nice? I can't believe I felt sad coming in here. I can't believe for one second that I felt terrible for you. I don't even pity you. I knew you didn't want to live to your full potential. I knew that. I accepted it. It wasn't what I wanted so I left, but this…" She gestured to his appearance. Half-dead. Zombie-like. A bandage around his wrist and a hospital ID tag on the other. "This isn't it at all."

He moved his hand from holding his head up and she saw the inside of his arm, frowning. He followed her gaze, shrugging, but he didn't explain it. She leaned forward; there was now only about two feet of space between them. _Veni Vidi Vici. _It curled into itself, in a long squiggle across his wrist. There was another one, above that, in some language. She didn't recognize it.

Veni, vidi, vici, she thought. Julius Ceasar. I came, I saw, I conquered. Was that what he thought he'd done with his life? With himself? What did he even see…what had he conquered? Or was it prophetic, she wondered, looking back down at it again. He was in the midst of conquering his demons. The ones that had completely swallowed him whole. She looked up at him again. "What made you agree to this?" she asked. He'd tell her. He hated her right now, but he'd tell her.

He looked away, raking his fingers through his hair again. He dropped his fist to his knee, and his fingers curled into a fist. The tattoo tightened on his forearm. He finally met her eyes again. "My nephew said I scared him," he said. He closed his eyes, sighing sadly. "And my brother won't let me see them and…and he won't even come see me either."

That would do it, she thought. Their relationship was one of the most complex ones she'd witnessed. She shook her head again, her voice soft. "He loves you very much."

"He brought me here from the hospital." His voice was faraway. He looked over at her again, quirking his lip. "I was gone."

Jason told her that after they'd found him, after they'd pumped his stomach, and after they'd told him what had happened that they'd released him. It hadn't done what it should have done. It just made him angry that they'd intervened and he'd gone drinking again. Until Billy took him to the rehab hospital, after he'd confronted him again about it all. This wasn't anything they could just say was a social thing. Was just who he was.

This was killing him slowly. He'd had to get treatment. He'd been taking pills. There was an accident on a construction site a couple years before. Typical addictive behavior, she thought, her mind switching to her neuroscience studies. The release of serotonin when he got his hands on alcohol and eventually on pills. Just a few to take the edge off. It always started that way. Then it spiraled into him taking them by the fistful. Into passing out, unconscious, and near death.

The one thing to get him to come here was the threat of never seeing his family again. She hoped it would work. It would be a lifelong struggle. I came, I saw, I conquered. The irony wasn't lost on her. You never conquered this. You could say you did, but you never conquered. It was always a struggle. You could conquer your demons, but your addiction would forever remain.

Hell, she thought, staring at him. I know. I know what addiction feels like. I'm skipping meeting my boyfriend's parents because I'm here. I'm lying to him about staying longer in Dillon because I'm here. I get sucked in, I get a little taste…she closed her eyes, inhaling. Just a little more. Just a little more of him and maybe she could walk away again. She folded her hands tight in her lap. Speak. Say something before you do something you regret. "Do you have therapy?"

He snorted. "Every hour." He looked over at her again, lifting his arm up. The tattoo flexed a little and he turned his arm over. He looked back up at her, his eyes a little clearer. "Why are you here?" It was curious. Genuine. Not judgmental.

I'm here because I'm addicted to you, she thought honestly. "I'm here for Jason," she whispered. She closed her eyes, ignoring the prick and sting of tears. "I'm here for my friend."

"Not me?"

"No," she snorted. That pissed her off. She stared at him for a second, before scoffing. He looked up at the sound. Confused. "Fuck Tim. I hate you right now." That was probably the most truthful thing she'd said since she'd sat down a moment ago. She smirked. "It's true. I hate you. You're destroying yourself…you're destroying the people around you and for what? You don't drink to enjoy people around you or to escape from one thing a couple times a week. You don't…you don't take the pills for pain." Not the type of pain they're for. She shrugged. "You numb everything you feel with drink and drugs and it was cute for awhile in high school. Maybe even for a couple years afterward." She grinned. Angry. Someone once told her that was when she was at her scariest. Who knew what she'd do when she was angry. "You wanted one thing out of life and you threw it away. You may have built your house, but…but then what Tim? You filled it all with nothing. Now you're here, after you almost killed yourself and your stupid brother, who quite honestly, I never understood why you loved him so much, but now I do. Because he would help you when it ultimately came down to it."

The best thing Billy ever did for you was drive you straight from the hospital to Shady Oaks Rehabilitation Facility. "And you know…" She covered her mouth with her hand, wiping and dropping it to her knee. She curled her fingers into a fist, glaring at him and gritting her teeth. "I was so angry when I heard what happened. So, so angry at you. Then I just…I guess I just shrugged and felt sad and upset because Jason was so upset." She shrugged again, her voice dropping to a whisper. "But you're just living up to the expectations that people set for you when you were sixteen. I guess I just don't know where you can go from here but up, but only you have to want that. To prove them all wrong."

"I don't care," he whispered, interrupting her before she could continue. She blinked. He looked over at her again, shaking his head slightly. "I don't care what they think."

Yes you do. "You care. You wouldn't be here if you didn't."

"That's different. That's Billy and…and my nephews."

"What about your life?" she asked. She thought she'd done something with hers. Liked to think that he'd tried to do something with his. He sort of had. He had a beautiful house that he'd built from the studs up. Working with his hands and just living his life. Too bad he was spiraling out of control. "What about your future?"

"I don't care."

"You don't care?" She cocked her head slightly. Now she was quiet, leaning back a little on the bench. Her hands squeezed tight together on her wool pants. Her upper lip twitched. That was an interesting thing to say. Given why he was here. "You cared enough about what your nephews thought to come. You cared about Billy. Why do you think you can't have that one day? What about your future children? Or your future wife?"

He looked over at her again and his thumb pressed to his tattoo. Feeling his pulse, she wondered. His hazel eyes seemed to light up again. "The only woman I wanted to marry went off to have a better life."

Don't do that. Don't say things like that. She arched her eyebrow. Don't do it Lyla. Keep your mouth shut. "Well…" she took a deep breath. "The only man I wanted to marry didn't want anything bigger for himself."

"And that wasn't enough for you."

"I'm not fighting this out again. This is about you here. Almost dead. Your life in ruins."

"Just say I told you so."

No. I'm not going to do that, because I never told you so. She shook her head. "No," she whispered. She tapped her finger on his tattoo. "Only you can tell yourself that." She knew her time was coming to an end here. They only had one hour, when in reality they needed another lifetime. Why am I so addicted to you, she thought, closing her eyes around tears. "I loved you so much, I would have done anything for you and…and I got out of it."

Then why are you here, she asked herself. He looked back at her again, his voice gravelly. She wasn't sure if it was from his sore throat or not this time. "I need you," he said. He bit his lower lip. The façade, the toughness that she'd seen before. That 'I don't care or give a shit about anything' look was gone. It was always an act. He really did care. He cared more than anyone. "I can't do this myself."

"You have to," she said. Only he could help his addiction. She squeezed his wrist, her thumb pressing against the word 'vici.' Conquered. She felt her hair fall out of its twist. The elegant façade she'd been putting up always fell away when she was around him. She felt her forehead wrinkle and her eyes strain to get through to him. "Tim this is only your addiction. Billy got through to you by bringing you here, convincing you it was in your interest because of your nephews, but…but maybe…" Maybe I came here for another reason. She sobbed out. "I'm here because I hurt when you're like this and…and I wish I didn't. I wish after all this time that you didn't have this effect on me but you do. I'm as addicted to you as you are to booze."

He reached for her; against her better judgment she let him, his hand on her face. His thumb shakily wiped at a tear. "They tell me that I can't ever drink again." He seemed scared. He swallowed; his throat constricted. "That true?"

Yes. It was very true. "Never again," she whispered. She was a neuroscientist who studied addiction. She could safely say that. She took a deep breath, held it, and then slowly released through pursed lips. He was terrified. "Tim you drink for a reason. You can only stop if you learn the reason. What you're afraid of and…and what your pain is. Because it isn't that you hurt yourself a year ago or…or that your parents left you when you were a kid. There's a lot more to it. It's just part of you."

He hit his head against the back of the chair, staring up at the sky. "I don't know how it turned out this way," he breathed. He spoke, nice and even. "It wasn't supposed to be this way."

That's what happens when life happens. She squeezed his wrist tighter. "I'm here because I love you and I believe in you," she said. She smiled sadly. "And I might hate you a little right now, but…but it's just because I hate watching someone I love completely crash."

He reached over and covered her hand with his free one and dropped his forehead to hers. He swallowed again. "Help me," he whispered. Begged. She closed her eyes, tears trickling. "Please help me. I can't do this…I can't."

"You can. You have to do it. You did it before."

"That was different. That was jail. I wasn't alone." He grabbed her wrist as tight as she could handle it before she winced slightly and he released, just a little. They remained like that for a moment, just both of them holding each other. His thumb brushed over her pulse, which began to beat rapidly and she could feel his against her fingertips on his wrist. "I wasn't alone then either. That was different."

"Get Tyra to help," she said; it came out a little nastier than she wanted it to come out. I'm not jealous, she instantly thought. She wasn't going to help him then. Her father had warned her to stay away, so she stayed away that Christmas break. She'd gone to Switzerland with some friends. Daddy warned me to stay away this time too. I managed to avoid the drink then, she thought, closing her eyes. I can't seem stay away from it now.

He shook his head and his nose brushed hers. It wasn't intentional, because she felt him flinch and pull back slightly. "She can't help me. She doesn't understand." No, no she wouldn't understand, she thought. The two of them…it was so strange how two people with completely separate upbringings, who otherwise would have nothing in common, could be so drawn to each other. Yet there was Tyra, who was almost a female version of him and she didn't understand him at all sometimes. Wouldn't be able to help him now.

She doesn't understand the addiction. She didn't know how she could help him. "I just screw you up," she whispered. And you just screw me up too. "I can't help you."

"This is what you do. I can't do it on my own. Meetings and…and they give me these pills because I…" He let go of her and she could see that his hands were trembling. He held them up, laughing angrily. "I shake and…and I get these night things and I can't think…"

It's called withdrawal Tim. It's what happens when your body can't have what it craves. "You have to cope with them." Some people smoke. Some people eat. Others find another outlet. Exercise or a hobby or something.

He let go of her and scrubbed at his face, dropping his hands to his knees. He turend his head, looking back at the hospital and then up at the rooms looking down at them. "This place is worse than prison you know." He dropped his gaze back to her, smiling sadly. "Can't believe I know what that's like…" His tongue ran over his teeth and he closed his eyes. "I really fucked up, huh?"

Her forehead wrinkled and she nodded slightly. "Yes," she answered. She nodded again, before smiling sadly. "You really fucked up Tim." This time there's no way out of it. Not like jail. This time you're stuck for life. His thumb brushed over the tattoo. She smiled again at it. "Why did you get that saying?"

For a moment, he blinked at her. Said nothing. He looked at the tattoo and frowned, as though he were seeing it for the first time. "I guess…I was drunk." Yeah, I'm sure you were, but that's a pretty powerful saying. He shook his head. "It sounded cool. I wanted a tattoo. So I got it."

"Did it hurt? Mine hurt."

He gaped. "You got one?"

She smirked and looked at her hands. He was the only one who knew that outside of her boyfriend. Who only knew about it because he saw it. She shrugged. "_Vita sine paenitentia_."

"What's that mean?"

"Life without regret," she said. It was how she lived. She learned it from him and he seemed to know it, his forehead furrowing slightly and then it softened, his head cocking slightly at her before shaking, just a bit. No, he probably was thinking. Yes, she thought. She nodded. "I take it one day at a time. I do what I want and live with no regrets. I learned from…" She took a deep breath. "I learned from Jason, who could have died if his spine had cracked one vertebrae more. I…I learned from you too." Don't make a big deal about it. It's just how I am.

And here I am, because I don't want to regret not coming to see you one day. He looked at his wrist again. "I got it because it was the only thing I saw that I liked and I was drunk. I guess that's why I got it. Woke up the next morning with it and didn't know why. Guess it could have been worse."

"You could have gotten a big heart with the name Billy in it," she said. Trying to joke. He wasn't laughing. She felt her cheeks warm. "Sorry. Bad joke."

"I miss him."

"He's your brother, of course you miss him. You've done a lot for him." And he has done a lot for you.

The door to the hospital opened, breaking both of their thoughts and forcing their heads towards it. Anne, the nurse, was leaning out. "You have five minutes Ms. Garrity and then I'm going to have to take Tim back inside."

"Thank you," she called.

He looked down at his hands again, mumbling. "Like I'm a fucking dog."

"You're learning how to live without alcohol. You need discipline, even if you want to stay outside as long as you can." You're going to need it for the rest of your life. She thought of some of the books she'd brought him, that she knew he wouldn't read. Maybe he'd read one. "I brought one of my books for you. Thought you might want it."

It's about you, you know. He nodded, smirking. "I read it. Couple years ago." He shook his head, before smiling again. "It's funny, reading about yourself."

And yet you still didn't learn. I knew you wouldn't. "You're going to be okay," she vowed. She knew he would. It was just going to take time. This was his wake up call. She felt a sob escape and reached for him, framing his face in her hands. The terrified look had returned to his eyes. "You are going to be okay Tim. This is just a first step. You'll do it because you have to do it. Don't think about the other people. Don't think of them. Just think of you. Think of your life and how you want it to mean something. You don't want to die. If you had, you'd have swallowed more pills."

He swallowed hard, breathing. "I didn't want to die."

"No, no I don't believe you ever did."

"I just wanted it to stop," he gasped. There, she thought, seeing it. The acknowledgment. She nodded, silently encouraging him. They only had a few minutes. He had to say it while she was here. He reached to touch at his temple. "I hurt so much and I had to get it to stop. Everything was…fucked up. I went to jail! I…I lost people…Billy and…and Coach left and…" He laughed. "Tyra doesn't want me. She dumped me just like you did. It got to be too much."

And you needed it to stop. Your usual amount of drinks just became more and more to make it stop and it didn't. Then you started with the pills. By accident, of course, but they worked too and got out of control. "I know," she whispered.

He looked at her again, sad. "Will you help me?"

I'm an addict just like you. She nodded, mouthing 'yeah.' Yeah, I'll help you. I know I shouldn't. You should live on your own. Work this out on your own, but I can't. I'm just as bad as you are. She reached for him and squeezed him tight, wiping at her eyes and hugging. He clutched her like a lifeline. This was the worst thing for them both, but she couldn't stop.

His chin rested in her shoulder. "You smell nice. I hate hospital smells."

I hate them too, she laughed, biting her lower lip. She pulled back and wiped at his face, almost like he was a small child. They stood up and she took his hand, squeezing hard. You're going to be okay. "You're going to conquer this," she said. "I promise. I can't do it for you, you have to want it."

"I want it."

"Then you shall have it," she said, rising on her toes and kissing his cheek. She let go of him when Anne opened the door, letting them into the hospital. She turned around and squeezed his hands again. This would be the last time for awhile. He smiled a little. "I'll see you when you're out of here Tim."

He let go of her hand and nodded, walking away with Anne down a corridor. Another aide came over to take her to the front desk, but she didn't leave yet, watching him walk off, his hands shoved into the pockets of his blue scrub pants. His shoulders were hunched and he was just so skinny. You're going to be okay, she thought, finally tearing herself away when he was out of her sight.

She collected her things and left the rehab hospital, driving back to Dillon with tears running down her cheeks. She wiped at her face and cleaned herself up before she went upstairs to her father's condo, where she found him sitting at the kitchen table with Billy Riggins, a spread of student files out in front of them. "Your brother has a long road ahead of him, but I think he'll be fine," she said, closing the door behind her.

Billy looked away, his face pained. "Yeah…okay."

"He's never going to be able to drink again," she said. She had to put that into stark perspective for him. "You can't take him to the bar. He can't make any big life decisions for the next year. When he gets sick, he can only take aspirin, Billy. If he gets hurt again at work, he'll have to suck up the pain and be carefully monitored if they do give him painkillers." She wanted him to know this, because she wasn't going to be around forever. She dropped her Hermes bag on the table and crossed her arms over her chest. "But he's doing this because he loves you and the best thing you ever did was put him in that place."

She looked at Buddy, who was frowning at her. "And I'm going to monitor his progress."

Buddy closed his eyes, covering his forehead with his hand. "Lyla."

"You can't stop me Daddy."

"Why are you doing this Lyla? You have everything." Buddy stared up at her, sad. "Baby, why?" He knew he couldn't stop her, but at the very least he wanted an explanation, which she was more than willing to give him too.

Lyla shrugged and picked up her bag. "Because Daddy. I'm as much an addict as him." She'd let him wonder what she meant by that and walked into the guest bedroom, closing the door behind her. She reached into her bag and pulled out some work, ignoring her cell phone when her boyfriend back in New York called. She pushed up the lid of her laptop and leaned her arms on her desk.

The first step is admitting you have a problem, she thought. She began to type out her next article for the American Journal of Neuroscience. It was ironic, but hell, she'd deal with it when she had to deal with it.

Exactly eight weeks later, she leaned against the back of her car outside of Shady Oaks Rehabilitation Hospital, watching as he approached her, a backpack over his shoulder. His face had filled out more and he was smiling. He held up a small plant in a red ceramic pot. "I have to keep it alive for 28 days," he said.

She smiled a little. Addict. "Well we better get started."

THE END


	2. Vita Sine Paententia

**A/N: **I figured this needed a Tim POV, so I added him. Again, it's dark, ironic, and doesn't necessarily have a happy end. I didn't think it should. Thanks for the reviews :)

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_Vita Sine Paententia_

One year.

He stared at the stars, his head resting against hers, the both of them sharing the same chaise in his backyard. He liked looking at the stars out here; there weren't any city lights, so you could see every single constellation if you wanted. He closed his eyes and saw them again in his memory. He opened his eyes again, seeing them exactly in the same place.

His favorite was the bear. It didn't look much like a bear, but he could see the Little Dipper. The North Star. There was the brightest star in the sky, Sirius. Then there was Orion, the hunter. The belt. Betelgeuse was red. Like always. They never changed.

He flexed his hand beside him. "368 days," he whispered.

"Hmm…you'll know every single one," she replied. She opened her eyes from where she'd been dozing, rolling her eyes upwards to his. "It'll get easier. They call it recovery for a reason. You're recovering."

That was bullshit, but whatever. He took a deep breath, slowly releasing it. "What happens if I just have one drink?" he murmured. He could handle just one. That's all he wanted. It had been an entire year. Just one drink couldn't hurt. One Lone Star. Maybe a glass of whiskey. Nothing big. Not a keg.

She sighed again. They'd had this conversation before. "If you have one drink, you'll want another. Then another. Then you'll be wasted again and ruining your life again. I wouldn't risk it, but if you want to try, go ahead."

Damnit. He hated when she said things like that. Then she'd just stare at him with that 'I told you so' look when he would prove her right. He swallowed. He wanted a drink. He glanced down at her again. "Are you ever going to leave?" She came and went as she pleased. The first 28 days she'd been with him, because she said those were the hardest. Jason had come back for a couple of weekends. He would have thought it was old times if they hadn't been doing everything in their power to keep him from running off to the convenience store and blowing all the money he had on beer.

This time around she'd broken up with her boyfriend. Something about how he didn't trust her anymore. "And he shouldn't," she'd said. He didn't know what that meant, but she did, so she didn't say anything and he didn't ask. They just kind of did their thing when she visited. He wanted more; if she was going to stay here, he wanted more, but he knew she didn't.

She wanted a taste. Just a drink, but she kept coming back for more. Eventually she was going to leave him. Just like everyone else did. He nudged his head against hers, smiling when she pushed back. Her eyes sparkled in the starlight. She wrapped her arm around his chest, nuzzling against him. "When are you going to leave?" he murmured.

"When I get my fill," she whispered. She looked up at him again, her eyes softening. "I have to stay goodbye eventually…I just can't."

"You did it before."

"And I fell off the wagon."

That's how she referred to their relationship. An addiction. She was pretty upfront about it. He'd learned you had to be, if you were an addict. He wanted a drink, he thought again. He always thought it. When you were told you couldn't have it, it became all you could think about. Just one, he thought, glancing down at her. "Just one."

"Go for it."

She had an odd way about treating addiction. He'd read a couple of her books. She was pretty famous in her field, he guessed. Dr. Lyla Garrity. He'd seen her on a couple of television shows. Like the Today Show. She was a 'personality' as they called her, but she had a real job too. She spoke at universities. Sometimes she taught. Did weird experiments. She had a whole other life he didn't know about until she showed up at his door, craving her fix.

He tucked her closer under his arm, his thumb brushing over the tattoo she'd gotten on her wrist. _Veni Vidi Vici_. She'd gotten it during her last visit. Decided to do something crazy. It was small, so she could cover it with a watch, which she usually did. "I have to keep up appearances in my career," she'd told him, when she'd taken the bandage off and covered it with her bracelet. The other tattoo, he'd seen only once. A weak moment, when they'd both been craving their vices. It was also small, on the inside of her hipbone, covered by her underwear. He swore he'd seen it once, when they'd gone to the lake, but her bikini bottoms had covered it up. She was into hiding that part of herself, the bad girl, the one with the addictions. _Vita sine paententia_. Life without regret.

He dropped his hand to her hip, covering it possessively. "You staying the night?" he murmured against her forehead.

She sighed, nodding and curled deeper into him. "Yes. If that's alright."

"You have to leave sometime."

"Hmm…never." She rolled over onto him, stretching their arms over their heads. She kissed him lightly, her voice muffled against his mouth when she spoke. "I'm addicted to you. I can't seem to stop, even when I know I have to quit."

"I managed to do it."

She broke the kiss, tearing herself away and lifted herself off of him. She walked back up to the house, leaving him alone on the chaise. He looked back up at the stars. What had he done in the last year? He'd gotten his job back, but the shoulder injury he'd sustained about two years ago still hurt. He could only take generic aspirin or ibuprofen. All he wanted were some of the Vicodin. The problem he had was he didn't take one or two, he took ten.

He couldn't even begin to answer where that habit had come from. He'd taken it and then gone to sleep. It had felt so good he began to take more and more, just a couple more in the morning and later at night. He'd just drift away and he wouldn't have thoughts of being alone or how much he'd screwed up his life. He'd tried, he really had. He'd gotten back into his life with Billy, but things were different. He didn't trust him. He didn't feel the need for…for fun anymore.

Work wasn't what he wanted; he hated following the rules and having a boss. Of getting in trouble if he was five minutes late. He threw himself into house, but once he finished, he didn't know what to do with it. He could sit on the back porch for hours drinking. He had nothing. Random women, none of them were what he wanted. No future with kids in sight. Tyra came back once or twice, but it was the last time when he'd suggested they make it permanent when she pretty much told him she couldn't be with him anymore. They weren't like that. He'd accused her of using him for sex. Her little bandaid when she had a bad day and she hadn't denied it. After that one, he'd basically been thrown out of Buddy's. Buddy had even had enough of him.

He got off the chaise, walking up and into the house. Lyla had poured herself a glass of wine. He picked up her glass and held it to his nose, sniffing. He hated wine. He closed his eyes and tilted it to his lips, barely letting the wine touch before he set it back down. "Good for you," Lyla said, taking it back from him. She took a long sip, leaning her hip against the counter. She set the wine down and reached up for him, pulling his face down to hers. "You've done very well. I'm very proud."

And now it's your turn, he thought, his fingers pushing her t-shirt up over her ribs. Very slowly he tugged it up over her head and dropped it onto the floor. He skimmed his fingertips back over her taut stomach and to the button of her jeans. He pulled at it and slowly pulled them over her hips. She stepped out of them, standing in her matching pink lace underwear and bra. His fingertips ran back up over her again and he felt her shudder. "This is the last time," he whispered.

Her eyes opened. "What?"

"You need to say goodbye. I can't keep doing this to you." Consider it part of my recovery process. Make amends and all that. "I drag you down," he breathed, tugging on the back of her neck. She gasped, her eyes fluttering shut. He bit down on her lower lip. She always did like it a little rough. "And I'm no good for you." She moaned when he turned her around, her hands gripping the edge of the counter. His gaze fell on the bottle of wine. "You're addicted to me," he said, feeling that stupid little bit of pride that he could send someone into such a craze as he could her. He nibbled on her earlobe, breathing. "And you need to quit."

"I know," she whispered. She gasped when he gripped her hands, squeezing her wrists. His thumb brushed against her tattoo. She lifted it up and he kissed the inside of her wrist over the words. "You've done so well. You faced it and…and you conquered."

"I came," he said, kissing behind her ear. He kissed her wrist again. "I saw." He spun her around again, settling his mouth against hers. His eyes were focused on her and she stared back at him. "I conquered." Now it was her turn.

He lifted her up and her legs wrapped around his waist. He shook his head, moving her legs and shifting so they were slung over his arm. Much more romantic this way, he thought with a small smile. "This isn't fucking this time," he said. To make that clear. "This is different." This is the last time.

She cocked her head slightly, her eyes narrowing briefly. "I never thought we fucked," she said. She quirked her lip. "There was that one time in high school…" She brushed her lips against his. "The back of my father's car dealership."

"That was you getting back at him. You're so twisted."

"I am twisted."

"You should get therapy."

"Do you realize how hypocritical that sounds?"

That's what we aren't, isn't it? Hypocrites? He grabbed her mouth with his, kissing her hard before separating and carried her upstairs into his room. He kicked his door shut and dropped her on his bed, reaching to pull his t-shirt up over his head. He stood in front of her and smiled when she rose on her knees, pulling at his belt. He looked out the window; a storm was coming. The stars were still so bright, streaming light into the room. Or maybe that was the moon.

She suddenly stilled and fell back on her heels. He glanced down at her, reaching for her face. She seemed surprised at something. Her eyes rolled up to meet his. "This is the last time," she vowed.

Sure. It's the last time, he thought. He crawled onto the bed beside her, stretching out. She crawled up onto him, her hands folding over his abdomen. She sat there for a moment, staring at him before she turned her head to the window. "Do you think it's the last time?" he murmured.

They said nothing, until she finally looked down at him, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. It finally pulled over her teeth and she shook her head. "No," she answered. She sighed. "You're going to fall off the wagon. That's inevitable. As inevitable as it is that I'll be with you. Hell, I could get married. I could have kids. I just know that…that somehow I'll find myself back with you. We always find our way back to each other."

"Like magnets."

"Like fire. We're dependent on each other. The spark and the oxygen," she murmured, leaning down and brushing her lips against his. He sighed and she bit down on his lower lip, her voice still quiet. "I love you."

I love you too, he thought. "Let's get married," he said. He was only half into the suggestion. He wasn't really sure about it. It had been a year, but it wasn't like he could still make rash decisions. She knew it. Which was why she just smiled. "Come on," he said, smiling. "Let's get married, you practically live here anyway."

"You can't make big decisions the first year sober."

"Being sober sucks."

"Well no one said it would be easy. Quite the contrary."

He sighed, letting go of her as she climbed off of him and reached for his shirt, pulling it on over her underwear. He hated when she covered up, but he understood why, given the topic of their conversation. "No one said this would be easy," he said. He didn't even know what he was talking about. He sat up on his elbows, meeting her eyes. Sad and serious. "Can we get married one day?"

She quirked her lip up. "I don't know."

"You won't say no to it? One day?"

They waited a moment and she nodded, leaning forward to kiss him again. "One day." She sighed hard. "They say no big decisions in one year. I'm inclined to make it two."

"Two years. I can work with that."

"It's not a guarantee. One of the worst things is two addicts falling in love," she warned. She opened her mouth, probably going to start on about serotonin and norepinephrine and all those other things that rattled around in your brain making you do stupid things, but he didn't want to hear it. So he kissed her. He was sick of people telling him what was going on in his head and what his emotions were about.

She groaned when he flipped her onto her back, pushing his t-shirt off of her again. "I have to go," she said, between kisses, which began to grow increasingly desperate. She gripped his face. "I have to go sometime."

Yeah, I know. He shut her up; she'd become a new addiction for him, as much as he was for her. He didn't want to face the reality of living without her again. Not right now, not when she was right in front of him.

A few days later, she'd gone. She was coping in her way; he was no good for her and he knew it. She had to move on to someone who wasn't such a mess. About two weeks after she'd left, he was slouched back on his chaise, his fingertips dancing over the rim of the bottle of beer in his hand. He reached it to his lips and tilted it back. Until he was setting it aside and picking up the chip, fiddling with it as he called.

"Why are you calling me?"

"Because you're my sponsor."

"Well then who is my sponsor for you?"

He didn't know the answer to that one. He glanced at the bottle of beer. "I want a drink."

"You can't drink."

They spoke for a few more minutes, until she said she had to go. He tossed his phone aside and grabbed the bottle of beer, pouring it down his throat. The second it touched he almost choked. It burned. Then he swallowed and released a gasp, his eyes watering. Oh God. That wasn't nearly as good as it used to be. He finished off the bottle a few minutes later, throwing it aside.

When he looked up, he saw her standing on the porch. There was a travel case behind her. "Really?" he called.

She walked towards him, her hands in her pockets. She shrugged, her voice soft. "You lasted a year. I lasted two weeks."

He glanced at the beer bottle. He wanted more. His throat burned and he just wanted more, but he wouldn't. Not now that she was here. Just like she did. "What'd you say about addicts loving each other?"

"They shouldn't do it, they egg each other on psychologically and make each other's addictions deeper and far worse. I'm writing a book on it."

"What's it called?"

She kissed him. When she pulled back, she spoke, her voice soft. Serious. "Jumping off a cliff." She pursed her lips, waiting a moment and then sighed. "Will you jump off the cliff with me?"

They were not healthy. This wasn't healthy, but hell if he didn't want to go for it. Two addicts needed each other. It kept him from the hard stuff, he figured, might as well go for it. He wanted another drink. Right now, but she'd suffice. He reached for her hand, threading their fingers together and looked up at her, smiling briefly.

"Well?" she asked, pressing for an answer.

Tim smiled, long and slow, making up his mind. Embrace the chaos, so to speak, and maybe they'd recover. No, wait, what did she use? Conquer. Maybe they'd conquer it together. He sighed, smiling at her. His hand went down to her hip, possessively holding her, his fingertips brushing over where he knew her inscription was. Vita sine paententia. Life without regret. He lifted his eyes back, meeting hers, which lit up, figuring it out. He leaned in to kiss her, his voice hopeful. "Let's hold hands on the way down."

**The End (For now)**


End file.
